


Catch Me as I Fall

by Velace



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Family, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Mild Language, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-02-28 20:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2746589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velace/pseuds/Velace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If friendship is the key to happiness, then Emma and Regina are well on their way to their Happy Ever After.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Ha!" Emma exclaims, raising her fist into the air. "In your face!"

Henry rolls his eyes, dropping the controller onto the cushion beside him. "Real mature, ma," he says, standing and shaking his head as he leaves the room.

"Aww come on, I was kidding!" She yells after him.

"I'm getting something to eat!" He calls back and she grins, launching herself off the couch to follow after him. He is definitely her kid, and she could use some food.

When she reaches the kitchen, she remembers where she is and comes to a sudden stop. _Right_ , she reminds herself; Regina had to work late and she invited Emma to the mansion to make sure Henry did his homework, and didn't waste all of his free time on videogames.

Oops.

 _Ah well_ , she thinks, _one out of two aint bad_ —although…

"You did your homework, right?" she asks, brow furrowing.

She knows he was doing _something_ when she first arrived, but hadn't paid much attention due to the fact Regina was still on the phone with her when she came through the door, yammering in her ear about Snow trying to tell her how to do her job. Typical 'Regina needs to yell at someone about something before she explodes and decides a killing spree is a perfectly valid option to make herself feel better' material. It amuses Emma, so more often than not, she's happy to be on the receiving end of the brunette's rants.

He nods and she breathes a relieved sigh. Ever since their time in New York, she's been a little, well, _slack—_ for lack of a better word—when it comes to parenting him. Regina doesn't seem to mind, sometimes the brunette even mothers _her_ in a way; inviting her to dinner, bringing her soup that one time she was sick. She loves the kid more than she's ever loved anyone; she's simply learned that Regina is better at the whole motherhood thing.

Not that she takes advantage of the brunette, more that she accepts help when it's offered and no longer thinks herself entirely useless when she needs to ask for advice. It's good—life is good. They're sort-of co-parents and Henry is happy with the little family… type… unit… thing they've got going on. Emma is too—happy, that is. Regina is a lot more relaxed than she used to be, now that their lives aren't in mortal peril constantly anymore.

It's good, great even.

"Want some?" Henry waves a bag of what looks to be meat in her face and Emma squints, trying to figure out what it is before he catches on and explains, "It's ground beef, ma; I'm making nachos."

"Oh." She chuckles, nodding as she says, "Yeah, I'd love some."

He gives her a look that's eerily familiar, the one Regina uses when she thinks Emma is being an idiot and she grins, shoulders lifting in a shrug as she plops onto a stool at the island counter. It took her a while to figure it out, but she knows there is fondness beneath the exasperated look and it no longer makes her feel what it implies.

It was yet another thing she's accepted about herself.

Despite what her teachers use to say, there is such a thing as a stupid question and she has an ample supply stocked up and ready to use, daily. She's smart, she just happens to know very little about food beyond the fact she loves to eat it.

She accepts it, Henry accepts it, and Regina accepts it—hence, the look. It is also used when it comes to magic, algebra, and whenever she refers to Regina as a friend while within hearing distance of the brunette because _bad Emma, "the Evil Queen doesn't have friends, dear."_

Pulled from her musings by the incessant and unnecessary beeping of the microwave, Emma's nose twitches and she hums—right before she hears the front door open and close.

"Aww man," she whines. "Now she's going to kick me out and I won't get any nachos."

Henry smirks, shaking his head as he grabs the bowl from the microwave and returns to the den. Ruled by her stomach, Emma stands and trails along behind him, pausing in the foyer where Regina is removing her coat while he disappears into the adjoining room.

She eyes the brunette. "You're supposed to shout _honey, I'm home_ ," she informs the tired-looking Mayor who scoffs in response.

"In your dreams, Swan," Regina replies, lifting each foot to remove her heels and carrying them in one hand as she moves passed the blonde into the den. Emma activates her puppy mode and follows once more, very aware of the habit so ingrained within her that she no longer even pretends to be bothered by it.

Regina hadn't dismissed her, so maybe there is hope for her yet.

Henry sits in the middle of the couch, Regina beside him—both apparently waiting for her to join them if their blank stares are any indication. She drags herself over to them and sits down, unable to hide her surprise when Regina hands her a controller with a grin, its twin firmly grasped in her other hand.

"You… you play?" she stutters, baffled by this brand new piece of information. Regina's grin merely widens in response and oh yeah Emma needs to see this. "Alright; let's go, Mills."

* * *

Thrashed would be an understated kindness in terms of how badly Regina had beaten her. Twenty minutes after their final match, Henry is still sniggering on and off, while Emma continues to gape at the now blank television. As with all things, Regina is merciless when it comes to gaming and if that isn't bad enough; she is immune to guilt, winning again and again and again until even Emma's ability to complain had been exhausted.

" _How_ ," she says for what has to be the hundredth time since her latest loss. Mortal Kombat is _her_ game, the game she wins, the one that never lets her down no matter who she plays against. Regina had swooped in and wiped the floor with her, it is—in short—highly unacceptable. "You are pure evil."

Her head snaps to the side as her words are greeted with throaty laughter. The sound only confirms the claim in her mind—no one should be that pleased with themselves, no matter how enchanting a face is when proud and full of unadulterated mirth. "One hundred percent, without a doubt; evil. Hades, Lord of the Underworld aint got nothing on you, lady."

"You do know that Hades is a fictional character, yes?"

Emma raises her eyebrow, forgoing a religious slash mythological debate as she chooses the route with less chance of a headache and responds, "So are you."

Henry snorts. "She's got you there, Mom."

Regina sniffs, as though she's about to dismiss the conversation, but the twitch of her lips gives her away and Emma grins. She sighs, allowing the smile to surface as she admits, "I suppose I walked into that one."

"Yeah you did," Henry and Emma announce at the same time, sharing a look before they both erupt with laughter.

No matter how hard she might have tried had the desire to do so struck, Regina doubts she could have hid the widening of her smile. Their interactions bring a warmth to her chest, one that lingers until the very last second and it has become somewhat of a companion to her during their prolonged respite from dangerous missions, the lack of villains popping out of the woodwork providing their little town with a time of peace.

Emma has proven herself a valuable friend—no, she will never admit such—in the past few months, and to see the blonde being happy with their son no longer causes an irrational feeling of jealousy in her. She isn't certain, but she believes that there is a possibility buried somewhere within their friendship, something that could possibly change their lives for the better and she had decided months earlier that she would refrain from interfering with it.

It is freeing—not to feel the need to control everything. Emma had described her as more 'down to earth' from the woman she once knew as _Madam Mayor_. Regina still thinks she should have set the blonde on fire for using the phrase _removing that stick from your ass_ as sufficient explanation for her observation, but has so far refrained from such while accepting that she is indeed changing to the point where people who see her as the Evil Queen are fewer with each passing day.

When their laughter dies down, she pretends not to notice and can feel their eyes on her as she stares down at some imaginary dirt beneath her fingernails, wondering which of them will cave first and hiding her smirk behind a mask of clear, bored indifference. Henry makes a sound that has her thinking he's about to break into a fit of giggles, a sort of strangled squeak that almost, _almost_ causes her mask to slip.

"So…" Emma, she should have known, breaks first and Regina tilts her head as if listening to a story. She waits, silent, still picking at the imaginary dirt and there's a single huff before, "I guess I'll be leaving now."

Emma stands and Regina looks up then, brow rising. She'd expected a joke, a plea for conversation—hell, she would have taken an overdramatic comment on the slowly discomforting silence but leaving? Leaving is out of the question. "You're not staying for dinner then?" she asks, smirking when the blonde's mouth opens and closes without a single word making it's way passed her lips.

"I think that's a yes," Henry offers, looking to Emma who nods an affirmative, her mouth snapping shut now that the need to respond has been satisfied by his assistance.

Want fulfilled, Regina pats the cushion beside her and waits for Emma to sit before offering her the remote. Emerald eyes narrow suspiciously, but the blonde takes it from her hand and Regina pats her thigh as she stands. "You two can amuse yourselves while I decide what it is we'll be having," she says, moving toward the foyer. "No more games tonight—and Henry, I expect your homework on that table when I return."

"Yes Mom," he murmurs dutifully.

Oblivious to their moment of responsibility while channel surfing, Emma gasps, "Ninja Turtles!" and Regina hears their son's groan, laughing quietly to herself as she makes her way to the kitchen and leaves the children to argue over what to watch.

* * *

"Miss Swan," Regina growls, hands on her hips and eyes fixed to the back of that hideous red leather jacket the blonde insists on wearing around her. "Take one more step and I swear I will roast you alive right where you stand."

Emma freezes, hand halfway outstretched towards the door handle. Dinner had ended more than two hours ago, Henry is getting ready for bed and although Regina hadn't yet suggested she leave, she thought the time was almost upon them and did the smart thing. She thanked Regina for dinner and said goodnight to their son before donning her jacket, but she knows that tone, knows she's done something wrong and for the life of her, she has no clue what exactly that something is.

Turning slowly, her hand drops to her side and she takes in the sight of the brunette; the stance, the glower. A shiver runs down her spine, her mind struggling to remember a time when Regina had looked as angry as she does in that moment. "What?" she half-croaks, half-squeaks the question. "What did I do now?"

An eyebrow rises slowly. "You have spent the better part of the last hour downing my cider," Regina says, her tone suggesting how idiotic she thinks Emma is being. "If you think I'm going to allow you to drive home, you are sadly mistaken."

Refuting the implication that she's drunk would be easy, but Emma is so surprised by the unexpected consideration for her well-being and the last thing on her mind is how to prove her capability behind the wheel as she stands there, gaping at the brunette as if the woman had just asked her to move in with her.

"If you're done imitating a fish, I suggest you remove that abomination…" Regina gestures to her jacket before she turns swiftly on her heel, moving toward the stairs as she finishes, "And follow me."

Looking over her shoulder at the door, Emma considers simply making a run for it while Regina has her back turned but the thought flies from her head when she hears the warning drawl of, "Don't think for a second that I won't come after you."

Trusting Regina will happily make good on the threat, and not in the mood to explain to her parents why the Mayor had followed her home, Emma resigns herself to being badgered into spending the night and turns back, sighing as she discards her jacket once more and tugs off her boots before following the domineering woman upstairs.

"I expect you down for breakfast in the morning," Regina states, pushing open the door to the guest bedroom. "I trust you can understand that sneaking out during the night is both discouraged and ill-advised."

Emma mumbles the word _bossy_ under her breath, and she knows Regina hears it by the grin that forms dark lips. She steps into the room, sensing the magic before she sees the purple cloud appear above the bed, and she watches as it dissipates to reveal an old pair of pajamas she thought she'd lost.

"I've been looking for those for a month," she says, turning her head to glance suspiciously at the brunette. "How did you know where they were when I didn't?"

Regina smirks and taps her nose as though knowing the location of Emma's runaway clothing is some highly valued secret, which Emma supposes is a possibility otherwise _why would they hide?_ And okay, perhaps the thought is enough for her to reconsider her stance on whether she's too intoxicated to drive… maybe.

"I always get what I want, Miss Swan," Regina replies in that unsurprisingly vague way, answering a grand total of nothing as she turns to leave. Emma huffs, and then huffs again because she can't even pretend to be annoyed by the response when she hears the, "Sweet dreams, Emma," Regina throws over her shoulder.

Dragging herself over to the bed, she flops down on her back and releases a pleasured groan that—under normal circumstances—would have her blushing at how sexual it sounds in her ears. She's never stayed the night before and with less than 5 seconds on this bed; she thinks she'd like to stay for the rest of her life. To top it all off, Regina is going to cook her breakfast and the mere thought causes another, equally sexual-sounding groan to slip from her lips.

"I'm a damn glutton," she confesses to the empty room, forcing herself to stand so she can close the door and change into her pajamas before she returns to the bed. She wriggles and squirms until she's safely tucked between the most comfortable sheets in the world, and closes her eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

Stubbornness be damned, Emma Swan is staying for breakfast.

* * *

The soft thump of feet alert Regina to the fact Emma is finally out of bed, and she grins upon hearing the blonde groan, no doubt catching the scent of freshly brewed coffee that permeates the house. Henry was ecstatic when she told him Emma stayed the night, and it had taken a number of promises from her to convince him not to run back upstairs to wake his other mother before he wandered off to school for the day.

Gliding over to the oven where she kept the pancakes she'd made heated, she retrieves the plate from within and sets it down on the counter just as Emma appears in the doorway. "You can obey instruction," she says, holding a hand to her chest in feigned disbelief. "Colour me shocked, Miss Swan."

"I'm still half asleep," Emma mumbles, dropping onto a stool and slouching over the counter as she adds, "Coffee before sass, please."

"You have manners too," Regina mock gasps, and chuckles as emerald eyes peer up at her from the arms where Emma has buried her head. "I suppose I can be nice for a few minutes and let you wake up," she concedes, pushing the plate of pancakes toward her before she moves to the coffeemaker.

Emma perks up at the sight of food, and her mouth waters as she recognizes a familiar scent. "Are these banana?"

Regina glances over her shoulder with a grin. "They are," she confirms. She remembered Henry had mentioned the fact Emma prefers them to the usual blueberry or apple, and she'd driven to the grocery store before either of them woke this morning.

Of course, she keeps this tidbit of information to herself as she slides a cup of coffee to the blonde and takes a seat across from her. She tries not to watch Emma eat, but with the sounds coming out of her mouth, she finds her attention slipping once in a while. Emma catches her looking every time and offers one of her lopsided grins as if to say _sorry, can't help it._

Even when she picks up the newspaper and valiantly tries to distract herself by reading it a second time, she can feel her grin widening with each satisfied sigh and hum of approval. By the time Emma finishes, her cheeks hurt and she feels an insane desire to launch herself from the stool and cook something else, simply so she can continue basking in the appreciation that is radiating off the blonde.

Draining the last of her coffee, Emma beams. "I need to get drunk here more often," she announces and the declaration is too much, as Regina is unable to hold in her laughter. Emma is so _easy_ to please and she wonders how no one had discovered such an obvious weakness. _Killian_ , she thinks, _Killian is an idiot;_ she had listened to him whine for months about how hard it is to make her happy.

Emma tilts her head, curious and Regina manages to compose herself after a moment. "Don't ever change, dear," she says with another laugh as Emma's expression transforms, bringing to mind the image of a confused puppy.

She reaches over and pats her hand before she stands. "More coffee?" she offers, smiling when Emma nods despite the suspicion she now wears, which Regina finds equally amusing if not slightly less adorable. Emma can be somewhat dense at times, but with a little nudge every now and then, she's confident the blonde will come to realize why it is the two of them have been spending more and more time together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was bitten by the fluff bug and thought of this fic. I was halfway through writing this chapter before I realised it wasn't even fluff and finished it anyway.

Emma is practically bouncing as she enters the station. She can't help it. She doesn't remember the last time she'd slept so well and that breakfast, those pancakes—god damn, Regina can cook. She actually feels happy for the first time in, well, forever really. There is just something about Regina taking care of her that makes her feel lighter, as though nothing in the world can bring her down.

It is both a welcome feeling, and a ridiculous one. If anyone told her a year ago that she would one day wake up in Regina's house, safe and insanely comfortable while the brunette fussed over her, she'd have marched them through the hospital doors, and straight down to the mental ward.

Stepping in to the main office, she pauses as she notices her parents seated at one of the desks. She walks over, frowning as they both look up. "Hey," David offers and Emma feels her chest warm at his smile. Even when she hasn't done anything lately, he still looks at her as though he's the proudest father in the world.

It used to annoy her to no end.

"Hi," she replies, eyes drifting to her mother. Snow is staring at her in a way that basically screams _I have questions you could but probably won't answer_ , and she sighs. "I was invited to dinner with Regina and Henry, drank too much cider, stayed the night and then had pancakes for breakfast," she says, eyebrow rising. "Did I miss anything?"

Lips pursed, Snow shakes her head and Emma nods—pretends David isn't grinning at her as she turns back to him. "Anything happen that I should know about?"

"Nope," he replies and stands, retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair before he presses a quick kiss to her cheek. He smiles at her one last time and grabs Snow by the hand, pulling her from the room.

Emma breathes a sigh of relief and walks into her office, eyeing the paperwork on her desk with thinly veiled contempt as she drops into her chair. She leans back and closes her eyes, lips quirking barely a second later as she can still smell the aroma of pancakes and coffee. Regina is way too good to her.

* * *

 

"Did you tell her?"

Looking up from her work, surprised she hadn't registered the door to her office opening, Regina frowns as Snow stands in the doorway, staring at her with a passive look on her face. _What drama is she pulling me into this time_? "Who?"

"Emma," Snow sighs, closing the door before making her way across to the visitor's chair.

It's been a while since they last spoke, but she should have guessed. Emma is the common denominator between them now that Henry no longer questions her love for him and isn't running to them every second of the day claiming her evil for all the world to hear. Snow could never stay away for long, however, any excuse to run back to her former step mother now that she isn't trying to kill her.

Placing her pen down, Regina clasps her hands in front of her and leans forward, arms folded on her desk. She doubts anything Snow has to say possesses even a modicum of sense, but what the hell? She could use a break. "What exactly is it you think I should have told your daughter, Snow?"

"That you like her." Snow smiles in that sickeningly sweet way Regina has become particularly adept at pretending doesn't get on every last one of her nerves.

Years upon years of practice finally paying off.  

She scoffs and with a roll of her eyes, replies, "In case you haven't noticed, we're friends; some part of me must like her."

It isn't as though she and Emma are keeping it secret. They have lunch together at least once a week at Granny's. Emma is at her house more often than that, worming her way into being invited to dinner. Not that she needs to try all that hard, Regina is happy to have someone to cook for that isn't her son. As much as she loves him, Henry isn't exactly Gordon Ramsay in his appreciation for her food.

Emma on the other hand, well she knows all the right things to say to leave Regina positively smug. If anyone deserves the moniker of Charming in that family, it should most definitely be the man's daughter.

All that aside, anyone with even a semblance of intelligence will have figured out they're friends by now. Though, she supposes, even a semblance is still asking a lot from these people. She is Mayor of Moronsville, after all.

"You care about her, Regina," Snow insists, a look of pleading overcoming her expression that Regina finds somewhat nauseating, and extremely grating.

"Of course I care about her," she snaps. She cares about Emma _a lot_ , and she'd stopped questioning that fact a long time ago, long before Snow discovered whatever it is she seems to think she knows. "Is there a point to this, because I have work to do and if not, I'd rather you leave before I decide to force feed you another poisoned apple."

"Come on, Regina." Snow sighs, as if Regina's refusal to confirm the baseless accusations is exhausting for _her._

_I'll give her exhausting_ , she thinks. Maybe she can turn her into a hamster or something, Snow could spend a few hours—days—weeks running in circles. "I know you have feelings for her," Snow adds after another beat.

_Like hell._

As Emma would say; Snow doesn't know shit. Her walls are air tight, and even if they weren't, there's no way she could have given anything away considering she has no idea what exactly it is she feels for Emma. They understand and respect one another, and there is a certain chemistry about them she's never had with anyone else but those are all things that drew them together. She likes Emma, cares about her but for all she knows, that's all it is.

Bringing a hand to her temple, she rubs the ache beginning to form there and murmurs, "I have feelings for a lot of people, Snow. Take yourself for instance; in this moment, I'm feeling rather quite murderous."

"Regina— "

"Snow," she interrupts. She is so far beyond done with this conversation. "Whatever it is that you think you know, I suggest you forget all about it and focus on something that is actually your business; such as... oh I don't know, how about your job?"

Unable to take a hint—Regina isn't entirely certain why she bothered to try, to be honest; the woman has always been rather dense—Snow retorts, "It's lunch time, Regina."

Glancing up at the clock, she's surprised to find that it is, in fact, lunch time and smiles as a rather simple fact occurs to her. "So it is," she says, standing and rounding her desk. She walks across the room to where her purse rests on the sofa and picks it up, passing Snow without another word as she leaves her office.

Sometimes it's easy to forget that this isn't the Enchanted Forest. Neither of them are Queens here, but Regina is most definitely her superior. Being the Mayor has its benefits and, as of this very moment, not having to subject herself to Snow White and her insufferable meddling is by far her favourite.

* * *

 

Emma startles awake as a door slams somewhere, glancing up at the clock before running a hand down her face with a groan. She must have fallen asleep in between filling out all these forms. It isn't the first time, and she doubts it'll be the last. Tedious routine and she do not mix well together; it's simple fact.

Getting up from her seat, she exits her office and takes a look around. Seeing no one there, she frowns, wondering where the sound had come from then as she crosses the room to the kitchen nook in the corner. She grimaces at the sight of the empty coffee pot and goes about filling it up, so caught up in her need for caffeine that she doesn't hear the familiar click of heels until Regina is practically on top of her.

"Jesus," she hisses, catching the coffee pot before it completes its sudden descent to the floor. Not only is Regina unnervingly good at surprising her, but the absolute glee she gets from it is scrawled plain as day across her face. "Ass," she mutters, knowing she hadn't said it quiet enough when the smirk widens.

"Careful, Miss Swan," Regina warns smoothly, not even trying to hide how entertaining she finds Emma almost having a heart attack to be, as Emma shakes her head.

"Don't even start," she retorts, nudging Regina out of the way with her hip. "You scared the shit out of me, the least you are is an ass."

Dark eyes narrow, but the smirk remains. Neither of them speak as Emma sets up the coffeemaker and she wonders why Regina is there as she turns, seeing the brunette has moved and made herself comfortable at the desk where her parents had been earlier that morning. Unlike David and Snow, however, Regina is neither sitting in the chair nor leaning against the desk and is, instead, sitting on top of it.

She has flashbacks to years ago when she was still new in town. She'd walked into the station the day of her promotion only to find Regina in almost the exact same position. Of course, this time there is no malice in the way Regina is looking at her, no warning in those eyes and no barely concealed threat delivered in that smooth, smoldering tone Regina so loves to use when she's channeling her former Evil Queen.

"Did you come all this way for a reason, or did you just miss me?"

Regina cocks an eyebrow. "Would that not constitute a reason?" she questions, voice a silky purr.

"Regina," Emma sighs. She isn't in the mood for their usual banter, flirtatious or otherwise. It really isn't a surprise that her parents seem to think there's more to this friendship than there is. It _is_ a surprise that they seem somehow okay with the idea, but that isn't really something she's ready to think about, bad mood or otherwise.

"Your mother came to see me," Regina states, casually interrupting her thoughts, and Emma frowns, trying to wrap her head around the words. Regina tends to avoid Snow, as though being in the same room together will somehow bring about the coming of the next plague or something.

"What? Why?"

Shoulders lifting in a shrug, the façade vanishes and Regina leans back on her hands, relaxing on top of the desk. Emma still can't help being stunned by the transformation. One minute Regina is all Madam Mayor; scary and intimidating and the next, she's—well, _her_. "She seems to be under the impression that there's something going on between us—something… more, than our little friendship."

Emma is going to kill her mother.

"You didn't turn her into a bird again, did you?" She asks, stalling as she tries to wrack her brain for something—anything to get them off of this topic. She isn't ready to discuss this. She's happy with where their friendship is at the moment, and she isn't about to let her mother ruin this for her.

"I did consider a hamster," Regina muses and Emma chuckles because _of course_ she did. "But then I decided terrorizing yet another species with your mother is rather crueler to them than it is to her. So no, I simply left her sitting in my office while I went to lunch."

"That's good." Emma leans back against the bench, legs crossed at the ankles as she looks back at the clock with a frown. "Bit late for lunch," she comments, brow raised.

Regina hums but offers nothing more and after a minute or two of staring, she slides from her perch atop the desk. "Well I should get back to work," she says, smoothing her hands over her slacks before their eyes meet once more. "You may wish to tell your mother to keep her nose out of our business, otherwise next time might not end so well for her."

Emma swallows, recognizing the suggestion for what it was; the Evil Queen is back. She inclines her head, an unspoken promise to do just that before Regina turns and saunters toward the exit. Emma closes her eyes, listening to the fading sound of heels against linoleum, and curses her mother silently.

* * *

 

"Mom?" Regina turns from where she's preparing dinner and places the knife in her hand down on the counter, giving her son her full attention. "Why is Ma sitting outside in the bug?"

Frowning, Regina quickly washes her hands and exits the kitchen, Henry following close behind. She yanks open the front door and sure enough, Emma is parked at the curb. Worried, but also intrigued, she tells Henry to go back inside and is halfway down the path to the sidewalk before she hears his protest.

"But—"

"I'll take care of it," she assures, throwing the words over her shoulder as she continues toward the bug. Whatever brings Emma here, she doubts it's something their son needs to worry about and if she's wrong, well; they'll cross that bridge when they get to it.

Tapping her nails against the passenger side window, she can't help but smirk when Emma visibly jumps. She opens the door without an invitation and slides into the passenger seat. Getting to know Emma as well as she has over the last year, she's confident if she'd waited, she'd likely have frozen to death on the sidewalk before it occurred to the blonde that it might be too cold to have someone standing outside her vehicle.

The bug—deathtrap that it is—is surprisingly warm and she settles in, leaning back against the seat, expectant as she looks to the blonde with an eyebrow raised. Emma appears suitably offended by the invasion of her privacy, which calms her concern some but does absolutely nothing for her intrigue.

"Can I help you?"

She chuckles. "Should I not be the one asking you that question? You are parked outside my house in the middle of the night for no conceivable reason."

Emma's face screws up in confusion, steadily fuelling her amusement. "It's barely even six o'clock," she says. "Maybe I was driving home from work and decided to pull over for a minute because I was tired. You don't own the street, Regina."

Regina merely stares at her, not bothering to list all the reasons why Emma is being an idiot right now. She has one, it's quite extensive for something she's only _just_ made up in her head. 1) She's the Mayor, so she kinda _does_ own the street. All of them. 2) The apartment block where Emma lives with her righteous do-gooder parents doesn't require driving passed her house. 3) Emma is never not an idiot, so it goes without saying really.

And okay, so the list isn't all that extensive but those are three perfectly good reasons for why she isn't about to waste her breath.

Emma, however, is a stubborn fool and when she offers nothing further than a grunt and resumes her staring out of the window, Regina is left with no other choice but to cave if she wants to finish dinner without their son moping about the house. "Henry noticed you out here," she explains. "You either need to come inside or leave, Miss Swan. I don't care which, the choice is yours."

She's about to open the door and leave Emma to her sulking—or whatever it is that she's doing—when Emma speaks. "Snow and I had a fight," she murmurs with a sigh. "I was hoping you'd let me stay the night again."

Regina doesn't ask, she doesn't need to. Snow is also an idiot and the soft, weary sound of Emma's voice only confirms the fact. She knows why they're fighting. It's the same reason Emma always fights with her mother; her. If she didn't benefit from the company whenever it happens, Regina would give considerable thought to going over to the apartment and stapling Snow White's mouth shut.

"We're having lamb casserole for dinner," she says, shoving open the door and getting out. "Park this eyesore in the garage before you come in."


	3. Chapter 3

_It's the weekend_ is the first thought Emma has when she wakes. That means she doesn't have to work, but it also means she hadn't thought this whole staying at Regina's thing through. She won't be able to excuse herself as easily as she had yesterday and she doubts Regina will be all that harried to get her out of the house.

Her second thought is, why exactly is she on the floor?

Her back aches, her mouth is dry and there is a dull, yet persistent throb that's taken up residence inside her skull, which leads to her third thought; Regina and her damn cider. Every single time. She agrees to have one glass and somehow ends up losing count of how many she has in reality.

Naturally, Regina doesn't try to stop her. No, not when she likes to constantly, and haughtily, remind Emma that; _I'm not your mother, Miss Swan_ , even though she almost always has something to say about it later when Emma is feeling the effects and wishing she could simply curl over and die.

Damn that woman, damn the cider, and damn her inability to say no… more than once, while sounding as though she actually means it.

With a groan, she forces her body to move and gives up halfway to standing. She sits on the floor instead, grateful she can at least work the knots from her neck and back as the crack of her bones realigning themselves fills the room. Any thoughts she's ever had of camping, she decides then and there, were stupid and never to be contemplated ever again.

When she finally manages to stand, she notices the state of the couch and realizes with an eye roll that she'd fallen asleep in the den. Given she's never suffered a hangover, she supposes that's probably also why she has a headache, and wrinkles her nose.

Life makes a lot less sense when she's sober.

Yawning, she leaves the den in search of coffee and enters the kitchen, surprised to find Henry rather than Regina there. "Are you cooking?"

"Duh," he replies and slaps her hand as she reaches for the coffee pot.

He shoves a glass of water at her and tells her to sit when all she does is pout in response. She thinks she should probably say something—something along the lines of _don't hit your mother_ , but she knows she's dehydrated and even Henry the Grouch knows better than her addiction-addled morning brain.

Regina arrives just as Henry slides a plate of food to Emma, who gasps as an olive hand reaches over her shoulder to steal a strip of bacon. "Good morning light of my life," Regina greets as she comes into view and with a side-glance to Emma, adds, "And to you, constant pain in my backside."

Emma grunts, dismissing the rather mild barb in favour of devouring her food before Regina can steal any more. Mother and son look on in amusement, but she ignores that too. It's good. The eggs are fluffy, the bacon is crisp and unlike when she cooks them, the sausages don't require an exhausting game of tug of war between fork and teeth before they break apart.

They're still staring at her when she finishes, barely a quarter of the way through their own breakfast. She shrugs and downs the last of her water. She's always had a large appetite and it's obvious, to her at least, that Regina had passed on her skills to their son; who can blame her for practically inhaling the plate?

Standing, she takes her dishes to the sink and rinses them off before refilling her glass. It's a simple act to placate her son and she turns to him, eyeing him over the glass, letting him know he's to blame as she chugs it all down.

Henry rolls his eyes, message received and she smirks, taking a mug from the cupboard and pouring herself some coffee before she returns to her seat. Regina is surprisingly quiet throughout the whole thing, watching but not so much as lifting a curious eyebrow as she studies the both of them.

She has never had the pleasure of seeing the two of them interact in the morning. It's almost… nice, she thinks. After yesterday, she'd already found herself comparing the two but without Henry present, the image wasn't quite as complete as it is now. Were she and Emma not friends, she imagines the experience might be cause for some envy but as it stands, she can feel the smile curling her lips.

It is always the little things that remind her that Emma is the mother of her son. Not just their distaste for mornings, but in the way they talk to her. The way they sometimes treat her, small touches here and there meant to reassure her—that remind her she's no longer alone, uncared for or unloved. Emma has even kissed her cheek once or twice, whether it's a conscious choice she's never certain but it always feels genuine.

Her friendship with Emma Swan is surprisingly easy and this, having breakfast together, feels as though it's the right step in the next direction—wherever that direction happens to lead.

"Either of you have anything exciting planned for today?" She questions and Emma blinks, her attention having been drawn out of the window into the backyard while the silence had reigned.

"Not really," she murmurs into her cup, sipping her coffee as Henry shakes his head.

Unlike his time spent with Regina, her time with the kid is rarely planned, the two of them are more the type to go with the flow and see where the day takes them. It usually ends the same; the two of them filled with an ungodly amount of unhealthy food—pizza, most likely—spread out on the sofa at her parents place and playing video games while whining about having eaten too much.

Regina doesn't know the exact details, but Emma is certain she is more than aware of what they get up to when she isn't around to stop them, and she sees absolutely no reason to bring it up.

"I've been thinking of converting the basement," Regina says, smirking as both sets of eyes snap to her. "I thought a gym at first…"

Mother and son release simultaneous groans of disgust, and Regina chuckles knowingly. "Of course," she continues, "only I would use it and barely at that, which leads me to consider that perhaps a games room might be more favorable."

Emma and Henry nod vigorously, garnering another chuckle from her as she shakes her head at them. Emma feels so so giddy and by the look on Henry's face, he's feeling it too. It is the quickest transformation between moody teenager and adorable, puppy son that Emma has seen in the five years she's been in Storybrooke.

"Need help?" Emma is quick to offer, hopeful as Regina turns to her with a grin.

"Not particularly." Her face falls and Regina rolls her eyes, softening with a smile as she adds, "But I'll accept yours all the same."

* * *

 

Regina sighs, watching Emma collapse into the chair. She could have done everything with magic, yet Emma had insisted on arranging the room the old fashioned way. She has to admit it all looks rather cozy and is likely far more welcoming than she herself would have done it, but even though Emma refuses to admit, she knows the woman had injured herself when moving the cabinet the TV now sits in.

"Get up," she demands. Emma opens her mouth to protest and Regina narrows her eyes. "Now."

Muttering something under her breath, Emma slowly gets to her feet, unable to hide her wince when she puts pressure on her arm to push herself up. "Idiot," Regina chides, ignoring her scowl as she moves to stand behind her.

Feeling Emma tense as she places her hands on the blonde's shoulders, Regina slips her thumbs beneath the straps of her tank and begins to rub soothing circles against damp skin. "Relax," she murmurs.

Emma sighs, slowly releasing the tension in her shoulders. She thinks she might have pulled a muscle, the pain familiar from all her years as a bounty hunter. It's been a while since she'd last had a good physical workout. Magic has made her life much more convenient and only after moving the cabinet had she realized it's also made her lazy.

She used to wrestle with men four times her size, barely winded as she pinned them to ground. Now she's bested by a piece of furniture, all because she'd had the thought that using magic would somehow make the room feel less. Less _what_ , she hasn't quite put her finger on. Earned? Like home? She has no idea where her brain was when she suggested doing it all by hand.

Regina presses her thumb against a particularly stubborn knot in her shoulder and Emma is pulled from her thoughts by the moan that escapes her. She tries to move out from under those wonderfully talented hands, but stops the moment Regina chuckles and tightens her grip.

"The point of a massage is for you to enjoy it, dear." Emma wills herself to relax again at the words, closing her eyes as she tilts her head.

She says nothing as a hand moves to the crook of her neck—a thumb sliding along the nape, but her mouth dries upon registering the warmth emanating against her back. "I certainly am," Regina purrs, breath hot against her ear.

Licking her lips, Emma clears her throat and asks, "What are you doing?" She knows, she does but—if she's somehow reading this wrong, it would ruin everything and nothing is worth their friendship.

The hand climbs higher, fingers curling around her jaw while the other drops to her hip and her breath hitches as Regina pulls their bodies flush against one another. "Hopefully," she murmurs, guiding the hand from hip to stomach. "What your mother thinks we've been doing all along."

Emma groans; one part arousal, another part disgust. "Did you have to mention my mother?"

Regina smirks. "Did I ruin the moment?"

"Yes!"

With a throaty laugh, Regina releases her and steps back. There will be other opportunities, she's sure. "Oh well, I suppose—" Emma spins on her heel, not allowing her to finish as she fists a hand in her shirt and pulls, hard.

Regina stumbles, hands finding hips as their mouths clash and her gasp ends in a muffled, wanton moan. She has imagined this moment so many times that she can't quite believe it's real. Emma's lips are warm and soft, but the kiss is anything but as years of pent up frustration, longing looks and flirtatious banter coalesce in to this one brief, defining moment.

Emma sucks her lower lip with a hum before she gently bites down and Regina feels her knees go weak. She curls her hands and tugs Emma closer, their bodies aligning perfectly as arms wrap around her neck and she parts Emma's lips with the stroke of her tongue.

"Ma? Mom?" Neither of them having heard the door upstairs, Regina and Emma fly apart and quickly move to opposites sides of the room as Henry comes into view.

He freezes at the bottom of the stairs and his eyes narrow at the sight of them, suspicious as he questions, "What's going on?"

"Uh…" Seeing the shock painted across Regina's face, Emma tries to think of an explanation but as her eyes inevitably fall to plump, kiss swollen lips, she comes up empty and confesses, "I kissed your mom."

Henry's eyes widen, disbelief lacing his tone as he turns to Regina. "Mom?"

At a loss for words, Regina releases a sound not unlike a whimper. She glances between them, wondering how the hell Emma is able to _speak_ let alone outright _tell_ their son what they were doing. "She kissed your mom," she croaks and slaps a hand over her mouth as Emma snorts in amusement.

Henry scrunches up his face, varying emotions flittering over his features before he settles on mild disgust. "Ew."

Emma frowns. There are many ways to describe Regina Mills' kisses, but _Ew_ is definitively not one of them. "Not really," she disagrees, her amusement only growing more at his obvious discomfort.

He shakes his head. "Nope," he says, turning his back to them, halfway up the stairs before Regina manages to find her voice again.

"Where are you going?" She asks, confused. She hadn't been worried about his reaction before, but even _she_ is surprised that it's happened and this is definitely not the way she imagined he would find out about them, should her and Emma move beyond simply friends.

"Away," he throws over his shoulder, reaching the top of the stairs and throwing open the door as he adds, "Before I'm scarred for the rest of my life."

"That went well," Emma comments through a puff of laughter as the door slams shut on her words.

Regina turns to her and stares a little too long for Emma's comfort. "I'm going to kill you," she states, not a single trace of humor in her voice as she stalks toward the blonde.

Emma smirks, unfazed as she meets her step for step. "Can we kiss some more first?"

Blindsided once more; first with the kiss, and now by the unexpected question asked with such… blasé, as though the two of them kissing is a common occurrence, Regina pauses. Again, she is at a loss and shakes her head. "You are impossible."

"Yes," Emma agrees, sliding her arms around Regina's waist as she comes to stand before her and leans in. "But you knew that already," she says before recapturing her lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, [telamon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telamon/pseuds/telamon). I had some free time, and the muse was surprisingly cooperative for once.

Emma sighs. Regina isn’t speaking to her and it’s… weird.

All these years together. Saving each other. Raising their son together; they became friends. It had been the easiest, most logical thing in the world when they took that step together. Ever since, their relationship has been good. They still fight, sure, but it’s more. It means more. Even when the fights revolve around something as small and insignificant as Emma forgetting to take her shoes off before she traipses through the Queen’s pristine mansion, it’s… nice. Good.

Regina not talking to her is not nice, or good. In fact, it is the exact opposite of both of those things, and Emma knows why. She knows why Regina won’t talk to her but the thing is, there’s nothing she can do about it. They kissed. They got caught up in the moment. They were still in the moment when Henry interrupted them, but it’s another day and the moment is gone but… not. Not really.

Regina might not be talking to her, but that doesn’t stop the comfortable symbiosis between them. She had stayed another night— in the guest room, of course. They’d cooked breakfast together, working around each other as if they’ve been doing it all their lives. Emma had said good morning and received nothing in reply, but she hadn’t let that stop her from putting together the fritters she’s become somewhat famously known for in their quaint little hamlet of a town. Regina will refuse to admit it, but Emma knows she likes them too, and so she makes them with as little fanfare as possible in the hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , Regina is simply having a bad morning.

Food might be Emma’s weak point, but this is one thing she knows will at least get her a smile, small but warm and everything she thinks a smile should be.

And she’s right.

Regina does smile, but by the afternoon, she still hasn’t spoken to Emma and it’s Sunday. Sunday is their family day together. She spends almost every waking minute she isn’t working with the Mills Family, but Sunday’s are official. Sunday is when the town knows not to disturb them for anything less than a catastrophic emergency. Sunday is when they spend the day regrouping, re-establishing their relationship with one another. It is a day of reassurances, of a love and happiness shared between two women co-parenting their son together. Emma had always thought it more, but she likely never would have done anything about it had Regina not initiated it the day before.

She kind of expected this, truth be told. Regina is freaking out. Whether a lot, or a little, Emma isn’t sure but it’s obvious that is what is happening. Regina takes to change like a fish does water when it comes to her, her choices and her own life. If the change affects someone else though, Regina is somewhat more hesitant. She’ll fight against it if she thinks she should and given this morning, Emma thinks this might be one of those times.

It is, in all of its largely baffling glory, entirely ridiculous, of course. In what universe could the two of them being together possibly be bad for someone else? Henry doesn’t seem to care, and really, isn’t he the only that counts— the only one that ever has counted where they’re concerned?

It’s around lunch time that she grows tired of the silent treatment. They’re at the park, Henry sandwiched between them and stuffing his face full of the delicious food Regina had prepared when Emma finally speaks up. “This is ridiculous,” she says, dropping her sandwich. She can’t eat when Regina is ignoring her. It might not make sense. It might be downright insane, but it’s the truth.

Henry looks at her and she catches his eye, assured by the subtle light in his gaze that he is in full agreement with her. Her confidence sky rockets when he stands and mumbles something about seeing a friend he wants to say hi to even though, when she looks around the park, Emma is fairly certain there is no friend. Not unless Henry is talking about Archie and Pongo and, okay, maybe he was.

Emma watches him say something to Archie who smiles before Henry tackles Pongo and the Dalmatian lets out a happy bark, licking their son’s face and sending his sharp peals of laughter through the air around them. She bites her lip and tries to stifle her smile when she turns her head, breath catching at the sight of Regina soaking in the sound.

God, she loves that smile.

Regina turns to her when Emma exhales. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Emma blinks. What? What did she do now? “Huh?”

“Do you have any idea the kind of stains he’ll have?” Regina huffs, biting in to the half eaten sandwich she holds as she rolls her eyes. She adds around the mouthful, “All because you couldn’t handle a little bit of silence,” and huffs again. “Honestly.”

Emma stares at her, mouth gaping wide without so much as a ‘ _yeah, that_ _’d be a reasonable response’_ from her brain, which it totally is, she decides as soon as she’s actually capable of thinking beyond the phrase ‘ _what the actual shit?_ _’_ “Huh?”

“I used to be able to throw you out,” Regina comments casually, brushing crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “You do something wrong, then it’s; time to leave, Miss Swan. Back to your parents. I wouldn’t even have to explain myself. Can I do that now? No. Henry will be mad, and I’ll be stupid enough to miss your infuriatingly thick head, and instead of punishing you for your idiocy, it would be as though I was punishing myself.”

When Regina deigns to look at her again, Emma is still gaping, and she rolls her eyes. “Close your mouth,” she demands, a certain level of smugness appearing in her expression when Emma instantly complies. She can’t help it. She’s never been one who put much stock in authority figures, but face to face with the Queen Regina used to be and that tone, and Emma can’t seem to help herself.

That the voice does more for her arousal than her fear probably has a lot to do with it, Emma can admit to herself. Regardless, she can’t let Regina get away with it, and that’s why she leans in. She captures that annoying little smirk with her mouth, fully expecting to be pushed away with a strong burst of magic, and pleasantly surprised when a hand fists in her shirt and pulls her even closer as Regina deepens the kiss. Emma slides a hand up over a shoulder and clasps the back of her neck, sinking in to the sensation of the soft yet demanding mouth as Regina takes all semblance of control from her.

Emma thinks maybe it isn’t so much the smiles she loves, but her mouth in it’s entirety. Even when Regina scowls, it is beyond sexy and provides all manner of thoughts as to what she might possibly do in order to wipe it from her face.

The kiss ends with both of them sighing, one part pleased, another part frustrated— the latter likely being for completely different reasons. Emma carefully extracts her hand and falls back on her elbows on the picnic blanket. Kissing her might not have been the best idea she’s ever had, no matter how much she enjoyed it. Regina might have been smirking, but there’s no denying the fact she’s still annoyed with her.

“Sorry,” she offers, half-hearted as it may be.

“Mhmm.” Regina studies her, the words swirling around in her head clear as day on her face.

Emma glances off to the side, hoping against hope she isn’t about to suffer an even lengthier silence because of her inability to control her impulses. She sees the hand from the corner of her eye before she feels it, and she glances down. Regina squeezes her thigh gently and draws her attention back beneath the probing gaze, chestnut eyes softer in their search of something. Emma doesn’t know what, but she feels less like an experiment beneath a microscope when Regina’s mouth curls in a half smile.

“Took you long enough.” Her responding smile falters, frown lines creasing her forehead in confusion, and Regina chuckles. “I wasn’t annoyed because we kissed Emma. I was annoyed because we didn’t.”

“Huh?”

She snorts. “When you woke up this morning,” Regina elaborates with a shake of her head. “Idiot.”

“Oh,” Emma breaths in realization, then in indignation, “You could have kissed _me_! _I_ initiated the first, and _only_ , two!”

Regina raises an eyebrow. “I cook for you.”

“Fritters!” Emma scowls. _She_ cooked breakfast not— okay, they _both_ cooked breakfast and yes, Regina started it first but Regina is abnormal! She likes _mornings_ , for goodness sake; it’s disgusting. If she weren’t so smart… and funny… and drop dead damn gorgeous, it would be a total turn off. “Ingrate!”

Chestnut eyes roll but she doesn’t miss the return of that smirk. Regina does cook for her an awful lot, and the once in a blue moon when they have breakfast together that _she_ cooks for Regina hardly makes up for it, but still. “It is way too early in our relationship for me to—”

“Is that what this is?” Regina interrupts, curiosity laced with amusement. “A relationship? That is awfully presumptuous of you, Miss Swan.”

Emma growls as she pushes herself up from the picnic blanket, and leans in. “Don’t even start with me, woman. I will dump you… _so_ fast.”

Regina tosses her head back and laughs. “ _You_? Dump _me_?” Emma frowns, ready to protest before Regina interrupts her again with a chuckle. Voice low, gravelly— almost what Emma might call a purr if her brain hadn’t short-circuited at the sound. “I don’t know what fantasy world you’re living in dear, but now that you’ve finally removed your head from your ass, you are stuck with me.”

With barely enough time to register the words, Regina claims her mouth and Emma stifles her gasp, moaning instead as a tongue slips effortlessly between her lips and Regina shoves her back to the ground.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Emma.”

She groans and raises her head. Ever since she noticed her mother stand up and walk over to her office, she’s been trying to pretend she _hadn_ _’t_ noticed. It’d been easy at first because she’d been engrossed in her emails, but then Regina had to leave for a meeting and she can only tolerate the sound of her name so many times before it starts to drive her mental.

When Snow says her name again, she contemplates banging her head repeatedly against her desk. “Oh my god,” she says, the words mingling with one long sigh. “What?”

“I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes,” Snow says, folding her arms.

Emma rolls her eyes, glancing to her computer in the hope Regina decided to ditch her meeting and continue their conversation. “And I’ve been ignoring you for the past five minutes,” she replies, disappointed when her inbox remains depressingly empty.

“Obviously,” is the unexpected response. Her gaze snaps up and she raises a brow, surprised. Her mother isn’t exactly the most observant person she’s ever met. Come to think of it, she’s fairly certain she’s never met anyone more oblivious in her life. “But why?”

“Because I know what you want,” she admits, “and it’s not happening.” Something has changed in her life. Something good, something that makes her happy and rather than let her enjoy it for a while, naturally her mother wants to know immediately what it is so she can either 1) disapprove and make her feel bad or (the more likely scenario given her meddling) 2) gush, fawn, gossip, rinse and repeat.

Snow pouts and whines, “I just want to know how it’s going.”

Emma cringes because the tone she uses reminds her of the spoiled princess her mother used to be and she _loathes_ it, especially when it’s being used on her. “And if it was any of your business, I would tell you.”

“You’re my daughter,” Snow protests, sounding thoroughly outraged. “Of course it’s my business!”

“It’s really not,” she counters with another sigh. If she thought Snow would listen, she might explain the meaning behind the words ‘private life’ but her mother has never been very good at listening when it matters, and she honestly can’t be bothered. “You’ve stuck your nose in enough as it is. If you want a thank you for meddling, the fine, thank you but I’m not going to share every facet of our relationship with you.”

“So it is a relationship?” Snow claps her hands together and Emma gives in to the urge as she lets her head fall to bang repeatedly against her desk. She should have kept ignoring her. “You’re finally together? Oh honey!”

“Ugh. Mom,” she groans, suddenly engulfed in the woolen embrace of the most hideous pink sweater she has ever seen. She shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the hold, and fails. “Get off.”

“Oh I bet you two make a beautiful couple,” Snow croons, ignoring her as she kisses the side of her head and squeezes her neck hard enough that Emma almost can’t breath. “I’ve been imagining the babies for years!”

“Dear god woman, it’s been 3 d...” Registering the words in their entirety, Emma trails off, blinking before her eyes grow wide. “What are you talking about, years?”

Finally, Snow lets her go and grins as she straightens. “Honestly, I’ve wondered if something was going on since before the curse broke,” she confesses. With the excitement pouring off of her, Emma is only mildly surprised she doesn’t immediately start bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I have a soft spot for enemies to lovers stories, and the two of you...”

She sighs wistfully and Emma stares at her, her brain refusing to even consider such things about her mother. If the books she’s stumbled across at the loft on occasion are any indication, then she knows exactly what those stories entail and she doesn’t _want_ to know. “Please stop talking.”

Snow laughs before she tries to hug her again. Emma shoots up from her chair and out of reach. She ignores the look it gets her and glances at the clock, relieved to see that it’s almost lunch time. It’s close enough, at least, that Regina won’t nag her were it to come up in conversation that she’d been at the diner earlier than she usually is.

“I’m going to granny’s,” she says, snagging her jacket from the back of her chair. She avoids Snow’s gaze, quickly adding the, “alone,” before she rushes out the door and passed her father.

He tries to stop her but she pretends deaf to the call of her name. She doesn’t stop until she reaches her bug and when she looks up, hoping against hope that neither of them had followed her anyway, she lets out a breath of relief when she finds the doors to the station closed, not a parent in sight.

She wonders if this is how Henry feels whenever she or Regina catch him talking to Grace at the end of a school day, and snorts when she recalls all the times he’s given her the silent treatment because she keeps calling her his girlfriend.

Poor kid, she thinks. Maybe she’ll stop doing that, then karma might think her deserving of a mother who keeps her senile imaginings to herself.

_Years._

She scoffs, yanking open the car door and sliding into the driver’s seat. If her and Regina had been doing _anything_ that first year, then it was far more likely to involve each other’s death, not— whatever Snow thought they might be doing.

Their conversation doesn’t all quite sink in until she reaches the diner where she remembers Snow had also mentioned babies, and groans for the third time in less than twenty minutes as she throws open the car door and climbs out, slamming it behind her.

“Are you alright, Sheriff?”

She jumps, startled, and takes a breath before she turns slowly, dog and cricket both eying her with their heads tilted curiously. She would laugh, if she didn’t think it so disturbingly creepy. “Archie. Hey. I’m good. You?”

He smiles. “Quite well,” he says as she kneels. “And how is Henry?”

Catching Pongo’s head before he can lick her face, Emma scratches behind his ear as she looks up at his owner, expression deadpan. “You’re his therapist.”

“I am,” he says with a chuckle. “I was speaking more in general terms, however.”

“Right.” She nods. “He’s great, I mean, as great as any kid can be having to go to school and do as he’s told, I guess.” She shrugs, patting Pongo on the head before she stands. “Hey, while I have you. You wouldn’t happen to know how Regina feels about babies, would you?”

He does that weird head tilt thing again and she refuses to look down at Pongo to see if he’s doing too, though she _really_ wants to. “Are you thinking of having another one together?”

“What?” She forces her face to contort in horror, well aware that of all the things she _does_ feel about the thought; horror isn’t one of them because Regina and children? Gods yes. “No. I was hoping that if I brought them up, she might feel the urge to strangle someone for me.”

“Emma.” Archie levels her with a look that instantly makes her feel guilty for entertaining the idea. “You know better than anyone how much Regina has changed.”

“Right,” she says, making a mental note to skip the jokes next time he stops her out on the street. She doesn’t know why she bothers sometimes. “Well. I’m starving, so I’m gonna grab something to eat then head back to work before Regina comes looking and drags me back to the station by my ear.”

He glances down at his watch but despite the skepticism written plain as day across his face, he nods and she inwardly sighs, relieved. She’s never been all that good at small talk, nevermind purposely trying to draw said talk out. “Very well. Have a good day, Sheriff.”

“Yeah, you too.” She waits until he starts walking away before she rolls her eyes at his back. As if she honestly thought Regina would strangle her mother for wanting more grandchildren. Knowing Regina, nothing would make her happier than having a gaggle of kids surrounding her at all hours of the day.

Whether they were _her_ children as well— Well. Emma shakes her head. It hasn’t even been a week yet since Regina claimed she is stuck with her, and it is way too early to be thinking about miniature Queens running around the town causing havoc with their cute little faces and big, brown eyes.

With a smile as big as the sun, Emma saunters into the diner, forgetting all about her mother and her ridiculous ideas.

* * *

 

Regina glares at her intercom. She had _just_ come out of a meeting she would like nothing more than to erase from her memory, and now her secretary is claiming Snow White is there to see her. This is what she gets, she thinks, for wondering how her day could possibly get any worse after listening to Gold drone on about— well.

Who knows, and really; who cares?

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she takes her phone from her desk drawer and unlocks it. She texts Emma, fairly certain she knows exactly why Snow White is outside her door.

**Does your mother know?**

Her phone buzzes almost instantly with a reply. **She guessed** , it reads and her upper lip curls. **I** **’m going to murder you later** , she types back. Leaving Emma to (hopefully) worry about the threat, she shoves her phone back into the drawer and closes it none too gently before she reaches across the desk for the intercom.

“Send her in. You might as well take your lunch while you’re at it.”

Her secretary thanks her as the door to her office opens and Snow walks in, grinning. Regina sneers at her while entertaining the thought of transmogrifying the abomination Snow calls a sweater into a pair of tentacles and have them wrap around her throat. She dismisses it in the next instant, though, because the last thing she needs is a mob outside town hall, demanding her head for daring to harm their precious Queen. That, and if the time comes she finally gives in to the urge to strangle Snow White, she’d rather do it with her own two hands.

“You did it,” Snow says, dropping into the chair opposite her with a happy little sigh.

Regina feigns confusion as she questions, “Did what?” Her eyes widen in mock horror, as though a realization has struck suddenly, and she lowers her voice as she says, “Tell me you didn’t see the bruises.”

Snow frowns, voice a tad too high to be the casual curiosity she seems be going for. “What bruises?”

“Why, the ones I left all over Emma last night, of course.” Regina smirks, leaning back in her chair as she soaks in the genuinely horrified expression that overcomes Snow’s features. “Considering her genetics, I thought she would be soft and boring in bed, but oh how wrong I was.” For effect, she rolls her eyes all the way back into her head and groans softly.

Snow gasps, holding up her hands as though she wants to surrender. “Please stop,” she squeaks. “That is my _daughter_ , Regina!”

“Oh yes,” she purrs, flashing what she hopes is a particularly sadistic grin. “Have I thanked you for that, yet? If not; thank you. Oh and before I forget, which of you is the biter? I would have assumed David, but I recall you used to have an oral fixation when you were younger, or am I thinking of someone else?”

“Regina!”

Savoring the sound of her outrage, she smiles innocently. “I’m sorry,” she drawls without an ounce of contrition. “I imagine you came here for a reason that doesn’t involve Emma’s rather spectacular talents in the bedroom. How may I help you, Snow?”

Snow stands and, uncharacteristically, Regina finds herself wanting to fist pump the air like an idiot. Of course, the desire makes her think of Emma, who is most definitely an idiot, and she is unable to stop the genuine, full smile from claiming her mouth.

“You’re happy,” Snow gasps, breaking the spell.

Brushing off thoughts of soft, blonde hair and piercing green eyes, Regina sighs, beyond aggravated. If thoughts of Emma would get rid of Snow White, then she’d gladly indulge in them but as it were, all they did is distract her from the work she should be doing.

“Snow,” she says warily.  Although setting her on fire would likely be the least troubling and most efficient way of getting rid of her, Regina knows there is only one way that doesn’t end with her in jail, or dead. “We kissed,” she admits hesitantly. “A few times. We agree that there is something more between us and we are… exploring what that something might be.”

She catches the opening of Snow’s mouth from the corner her eye and interrupts her. “That is all I’m going to tell you,” she says, adamant. It is already more than she should have. Certainly more than she wanted to. “When it comes to my relationship with your daughter, you are entitled to your _opinion_ but that is all you are allowed. What happens between us, is between us. You will know what we choose to tell you, and nothing more.”

Determined to finally get this through to her, Regina meets her gaze then and adds, “And if I find out you’ve been badgering Emma for information, you will beg for another curse to take away your memories when I’m through with you.”

If Snow thinks the mention of Emma being a biter and covered in bruises is bad, then the truth just might kill her.

“Was that clear enough for you, dear?” Snow nods, the muscles in her throat contracting boldly with her swallow, and Regina smiles. “Good,” she says, gesturing to the door. “If there is nothing else, I have work to do.”


	6. Chapter 6

When Emma returns home from work, all she wants to do is sit down and relax for about an hour. Maybe two. After lunch, her day hadn’t been too bad all things considering. She got to see Pongo again at around three for his daily escape and consequent chase through the park. Since Leroy no longer drinks to excess, she hadn’t arrested anyone in a while, which meant there wasn’t a lot of paper work for her to do. Beyond answering a few calls and patrolling for a bit, she’d sat around doing virtually nothing and, in a town like Storybrooke where monsters and magical ‘accidents’ are a regular occurrence, nothing had been just fine with her.

It is little more than five minutes after she walks in the door that she knows something is… off. Not necessarily wrong because her mother has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, but not right either. Snow keeps looking at her, like she’s trying to find something. Her face can’t seem to decide on what expression it wants to wear and alternates between curious, confused, and scared.

It could be amusing, were she directing it at someone else.

Emma puts up with it for about fifteen minutes before she gets up off the couch and wanders into the kitchen. If Snow has something to say to her, then she can say it, but Emma won’t ask. She still has a slight hope that Snow will forget about whatever it is that’s bothering her and simply leave her alone to unwind.

That isn’t to say she isn’t curious. It’s kind of in her nature to be, but she has a feeling that it’s about Regina and the texts she received that afternoon, and after her talk with Snow that morning, she really doesn’t want to get into it again. They have a habit of arguing and saying things neither of them mean when they talk about Regina. It’s not all bad, admittedly, but sometimes it’s bad enough that old habits rear their ugly heads and she has to run away.

Last weekend wasn’t the first time, and she doubts it’ll be the last. The only bright side to it is that she knows now Regina will welcome her into her home and, yeah, part of her wants to skip the frustration of trying to talk to her mother and jump to the part where she gets to see Regina again.

Sometimes having to act like an adult when she feels anything but is the worst.

Wandering back into the lounge, one cheese and tomato double-decker sandwich in one hand, and a beer in the other, she frowns. Snow is no where in sight, and though it fills her with undeniable relief, she also feels some concern. Her mother isn’t one to give up on something before she’s even had the chance to start, and Emma eyes her phone on the table as she drops on to the couch and contemplates calling Regina. Her instincts are generally never wrong and if Regina does know, then maybe she can skip the impending argument with her mother after all.

As she considers it, her phone chooses then to notify her of an incoming text and she’s unsurprised to see the familiar face light up her screen. Regina has always had a knack for reaching out before she can make up her mind.

Placing her beer on the table, Emma snatches up her phone and stares down at the message, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she reads it.

**I must admit I am surprised. You** **’re not lurking outside my house, hoping I’ll invite you in and feed you. Are you not feeling well, dear?**

**I** **’m sorry** , she replies, grinning to herself. **Was that an invitation and an expression of concern for my well-being in one text? Please tell me you didn** **’t hit your head again.**

She cringes a split-second _after_ she sends it. It’s been a while since Zelena had thrown her through the clock tower and given her a concussion, but Regina getting hurt and not doing something about it, as was the case back then, has been a long standing point of contention between them. Emma hates that she always tries to hide her pain, and Regina hates it when she fusses because she is, quote; _quite capable of taking care of myself, Miss Swan, thank you very much._ Unquote.

Anyway. She tries to avoid the topic when possible, which isn’t anywhere near as often as she’d like. Ever since Regina defeated her sister, she’d taken to the role of hero much in the same way their son had being the Author. If it weren’t for the killing and cursing people to misery, and eternal sleep, she’d almost wish Regina had stayed a villain if only so she’d stop throwing herself at danger whenever it appears.

Looking down, she sees another text and frowns at not having heard the chime as she opens it.

**If you** **’re not here in the next 5 minutes, consider the invitation revoked.**

* * *

 

Bent over as she places their dinner in the oven, Regina doesn’t see the great plume of white smoke that appears behind her. She almost screams at the unexpected sight of Emma when she straightens and turns around, and barely restrains herself from reaching out and slapping the idiotic grin off her idiotic face.

“Hi,” Emma says as Regina’s eyes are drawn down to what she holds in her hand.

“I invite you to dinner and you bring a sandwich with you?” She asks in disbelief.

Their eyes meet before Emma shrugs and says, “I made it before you invited me, and I don’t waste food.” As if to prove her point, she raises the sandwich and goes to take a bite, but pauses to add, “Unless it’s sushi.”

Regina frowns, forgetting for the moment her almost heart attack when she asks, “You don’t like sushi?”

Emma lifts a finger in the universal sign for wait as she chews. Regina would be lying if she said she hadn’t expected a response around a mouthful of food, and so she waits, feeling pleasantly surprised and patient while Emma finishes.

“The day man discovered fire,” she says eventually, “is the day raw seafood should have become one of those horror stories you threaten your kids with when they refuse to eat their vegetables.”

Regina laughs, oddly charmed by the response while Emma demolishes the rest of her sandwich. Sushi isn’t a favourite by any stretch of the imagination, but she doesn’t have quite the same aversion to it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says, inadvertently promising future meals for the two of them to share.

Even as she says it, she realizes what it means and can’t bring herself to care when Emma’s face lights up with another grin. She is beginning to understand just how willing she is to do almost anything to see Emma’s happiness so openly displayed and while the realization does fill her with _some_ trepidation, it is no match for the sheer joy she gets when she succeeds.

“I believe Henry is waiting for you down in the basement,” she murmurs, cheeks suddenly flush as her brain continues to muse a little too loudly for her liking, fixated on Emma and all the ways she might continue to bring out that happiness— a none too few of those thoughts involving bare skin, curious hands, and the wet heat of an all too skilled mouth.

Emma’s grin widens as she takes a step closer. “I think he’ll survive having to wait a little longer,” she says, erasing the last inch between them and pulling Regina in by her hips. “I’d hate to have to suffer through another 4 hours of silence because I forgot to greet you properly again.”

Regina moans as Emma leans in then and kisses her, instantly lost to the sensation of soft lips against her own. The way Emma kisses is intoxicating. Her taste never changes; always sweet and with the faint scent of coffee on her breath. It is a taste Regina enjoys far more when sampling it from Emma’s mouth, and it never fails to turn her weak in the knees.

The ease with which they’ve fallen into a relationship, she knows, shouldn’t surprise her but somehow still does. If their friendship could be summed up in a single word, then _easy_ is the most dominant that comes to mind. The only time anything between them was ever difficult was when they were at each other’s throats and yet, even then, their ability to push one another’s buttons had, perhaps, been the most simplest thing of all.

It is less _them_ that surprises her, and more herself. Of the two relationships she has had that stand out as anything more than sex, neither made her feel anything close to what Emma does with a single kiss.

When she would often overhear people claim what it felt to be in love, she would scoff and roll her eyes more than not. As Queen, she’d thought such things frivolous and exaggerated. None of them had ever had a love like her and Daniel. None of them truly knew the sheer power behind finding the one you were destined for. They were the delusional ramblings of peasants who knew nothing of which they spoke.

As Mayor, the mere mention of love was enough to drive her to thoughts of murder. She’d cursed them to escape such fantasies and had, instead, cursed herself to be reminded of the things she’d lost, over and over.

And then came Robin, her supposed _soul mate_.

Breaking their kiss, Regina bit her lip to stifle the laughter bubbling in her throat and stared at Emma who raised a brow at her poorly concealed grin. “Never considered that I might kiss funny,” she says, more musing to herself than any actual offense.

Regina shakes her head. “You kiss fine— more than fine,” she corrects when Emma’s expression looks to be contorting in outrage. “I am just… marveled by the simplicity of us.”

“Honey,” Emma drawls with a raspy chuckle. “There is absolutely _nothing_ simple about us,” she says and darts forward, pecking her on the nose. “I am a clumsy mess who irritates the hell out of you on the best of days, and you—”

“Quit while you’re ahead, Swan,” Regina interrupts, mock glaring at her. Emma grins. “We, together, are far easier than I would have imagined.”

Expression thoughtful, Emma considers it for a few minutes before she starts to nod. “Yeah, I guess we are.” She wrinkles her nose and adds, “Give it time, I guess.”

Regina rolls her eyes. “I’m the self-sabotaging one, dear, stick to your own role of optimistic idiot.”

Emma laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have subconsciously challenged myself to see how disgustingly sweet I can get. If you're nauseated now, let me know so I can stop and tell the muse she won.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to think this story is utterly pointless, but the fluff appeases my muse, so I'm not fighting it.

There is a vaguely amusing irony in when the son who is no longer nestled in your womb gives you a solid kick to the ribs. It also happens to hurt like a bitch and in Emma’s opinion, swearing is the perfect expression of that pain, especially when she had been sleeping at the time.

Cradling her side, she glances between mother and son with something akin to disbelief. She hadn’t exactly been quiet about it, yet neither Regina nor Henry so much as stir in their sleep. She would happily complain about it if she thought there was any point when no one is awake to _hear_ it.

That not being the case, she slumps back against the couch with a pout, and huffs. She’s known for a while that neither of them are light sleepers thanks to their nights in Neverland, the occasional Regina falling asleep at the loft and a few too many stakeouts turn sleepovers in the bug, but still. She could be being violently murdered right about now and by the time either of them realized it, she’d be dead.

She decides then and there that if it ever does happen, she’s going to come back and haunt them.

Reaching down to where one of Henry’s feet dig into her hip, she lifts it up and drapes his leg over Regina. The way they’re both lying takes up most of the couch. She’d fallen asleep sitting up but at some point during their movie, they’d decided to lie down and Regina’s head is in her lap, arms wrapped around her waist.

She’d be basking in the closeness and the warmth in her chest, if her ribs weren’t in the process of trying to beat out of her skin with the way they continuously throb.

Rolling her head back, she lets out a groan and tries to stretch. Regina grumbles something nonsensical, making it nigh on impossible as the arms tighten around her and Regina attempts to burrower deeper into her stomach.

What that leads to Regina will later claim is not in the least bit amusing, and Emma will most likely still be laughing her head off with potentially fractured ribs.

It goes a little something like this; Emma squeaks and before she has any idea at all of what she’s doing, she’s using magic to disappear out from underneath Regina because no, she does not want to be aroused with her son _right there_. Regina wakes, startled at the sudden drop of her head as her knee jerks and…

Let’s just say neither of them will be disciplining their son for the long string of curses that come tumbling from his mouth.

Now, Emma tries not to laugh. She really does, but when Henry follows up the curses with a claim that he’s dying and Regina’s expression turns mortified in realization of what she’s done, it’s a lost cause.

She quickly leaves the room because even if she thinks it was bound to happen to him sooner or later (and a tiny bit of her considers it payback for kicking her) she has enough sense to know that no decent mother should laugh at their child when they’re in pain.

She also has enough sense to know Regina would kill her for it.

 

And that is how Emma comes to be sitting in Regina’s kitchen, not sleeping and eating mint chocolate chip ice cream out of the container at three o’clock in the morning.

Regina walks in not long after she sits down, frowning when she sees her. “I thought you’d left,” she says, then snatches the ice cream from her hand. “Henry needs this more than you.”

Emma rolls her eyes with a muttered, “It’s his own fault.” Which really isn’t something she should have said, but is too late to take back because Regina is glaring at her now and— ah screw it. “If he hadn’t of woken me up, I wouldn’t have moved and you wouldn’t have…” She snorts, choking on her words as the memory plays over in her mind before she slaps a hand across her mouth, and hiccups.

“You…” Regina stares at her, exasperation in her voice when she questions shrilly, “Are you _laughing_ at our son?”

Her fingers peel back enough so that her words aren’t mumbled. “Little bit,” Emma admits and, yeah, if she had any doubts before; Regina is definitely going to kill her.

“What is wrong with you?”

Letting her hand fall back to the counter, she outright grins as she replies, “So many things, according to you.”

She’s tired, in pain and ice cream-less. Why not go for broke and be dead while she’s at it?

Regina purses her lips but not before the corner of her mouth twitches with humour. Emma nods at the container in her hand. “You know if he asked for that, he’s milking it, right?”

Sighing, Regina places it on the counter and slides it across to her. “I know.” She deflates, shoulders sagging as she falls on to a stool. “I just feel awful.”

“Don’t,” Emma says, adding before she can protest, “You were asleep. You didn’t do it on purpose, and if you ask me, the little shit deserved it. If you can’t knee him in the balls occasionally, then he shouldn’t kick people in the ribs.”

“He kicked you in the ribs?” She nods and Regina stands up again with a look of concern. “Are you alright?”

Touched, Emma smiles and shrugs. “Yeah it…” _still hurts a bit_ , she finishes silently as Regina quickly rounds the counter and a hand slides up her shirt to mold against her side. “Uh.”

She feels hot all of a sudden, and she’s fairly certain it has nothing to do with the healing magic Regina is pumping into her.

The minutes tick by slowly, torturously so, before the magic begins to ease and eventually tapers off while the hand remains. Emma swallows thickly and closes her eyes, pushing down a whimper as she enjoys the gentle caress of fingers gliding over her ribs, and the distinct lack of pain.

“Regina?”

“Mmm?”

_What are you doing?_

The question sits on the tip of her tongue, but the silence stretches between them because she can’t bring herself to ask it. She knows exactly what Regina is doing, and she doesn’t want her to stop.

Unfortunately, no sooner does the thought cross her mind when Regina kisses her temple and slides the hand out from under her shirt. “We should go to bed.”

“Uh huh.”

* * *

 

Smiling as she closes the door to their son’s room, Regina walks down the hall to her own. She pauses in the doorway with a frown before she raises her gaze to the ceiling and releases a sigh, part in exasperation but mostly in frustration. She thought her invitation to Emma had been perfectly clear, yet her room and, more importantly, her bed are sorely lacking the body she’d hoped to find upon her arrival.

With another sigh, she squares her shoulders and turns on her heel, determined as she marches down the hall, passed their son’s bedroom to the guest bedroom where Emma no longer sleeps, or so she assumed.

Not bothering to knock, she throws open the door, and frowns once more.

“Where…”

Groaning, she flicks her wrist and, sure enough, Emma has apparently decided stuffing her face to be more important than accepting her invite. Regina levels her with a glare. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” she says as green eyes peer up at her from where Emma’s head rests against the kitchen counter. “And assume you simply no longer find me attractive.”

Emma blinks slowly before she rises with the same lethargy and Regina crosses her arms, waiting not at all patiently as she continues to glare at her. The only other explanation she can think of for why Emma isn’t currently naked and in her bed, is that she truly is a complete and utter moron.

“I’m sorry, what?”

_So much for the benefit of the doubt,_ she thinks. “What exactly did you not comprehend when I said ‘we should go to bed’ ? Perhaps I can help.”

An eyebrow rises. “That it was a command?”

Regina huffs, arms falling to her side. “Very well,” she says, refusing to let her disappointment show as she turns her back on her. “Enjoy the couch, Miss Swan.”

By the time Emma makes it known she’s followed her, Regina is at the stairs, one hand on the banister in preparation for ascent before she feels the warmth at her back. Emma embraces her from behind and says nothing as she brushes the hair away from her neck and places, what Regina assumes, an apologetic kiss to her skin.

Her lids flutter and disappointment gives way to relief, contentment, annoyance. She frowns and turns in the embrace, one perfectly sculpted brow raised in an effort to express exactly how unimpressed she is with Emma in that moment.

Emma reads the expression for what it is and smiles sheepishly. Even so, she offers nothing in the way of explanation as she pulls back and takes her by the hand. Regina quietly follows her up the stairs, torn between simply letting whatever is happening happen, and demanding Emma heed her comment about the couch because the affection she feels assaulting her chest in no way makes up for Emma’s earlier rejection of her.

Entering her room, she closes the door behind them and Emma drops her hand, biting her lip as she turns to face her. “I thought you meant to sleep,” she says and Regina frowns. “I woke you up because of the way you were holding me in your sleep, and then the way you touched me in the kitchen— I was…”

She sighs and taking in the sight of pink cheeks, and the lip soon to be swollen given Emma’s complete lack of self control, Regina smirks. She understands exactly what Emma is trying to say and any negative emotion she’s managed to hold on to since leaving the kitchen evaporates, as though it had never existed to begin with, as a want to play fills the space left behind.

“Miss Swan,” she drawls teasingly. “Are you telling me that my touch turns you on?”

Emma closes her eyes, her exasperation clear in the way she takes in a breath and releases it in the next instant when she admits, “You know it does.”

Regina hums. She does. Admittedly, she was unaware of what she’d been doing to Emma while asleep, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t known exactly what she was doing to Emma once she’d finished healing her. If she had, then the way her face had fallen when she removed her hand would have given Emma away long before the confession.

“I do,” she purrs as she slowly begins to advance on her.

Emma bites her lip hard enough then that the pressure leaves behind the indent of teeth. Regina finds herself wanting to suck the lip into her mouth while the two of them do wonderfully _depraved_ things to one another. She is under no illusions about what Emma sees when her eyes eventually open and her cheeks flush even more brightly.

She desperately hopes Emma is in the mood to repeat that night so long ago they both agreed to never, ever mention.

They hadn’t been friends at the time, nor had they been sober, but it had never been far from Regina’s mind.

It is only recently that she’s stopped denying that night meant anything. She didn’t want them to rush into it, but she also can’t deny that the memory of the one and only time they’d slept together has been a continuous thought ever since Emma grew a backbone and kissed her that day in the basement.

“Regina,” Emma murmurs, back pressed firmly against the wall on the other side of the room as their bodies simply fit together like they belong.

“Emma,” she replies in kind, the want in her voice irrefutable. Their lips brush, drawing a whimper from one and a moan from the other before she adds, “We should go to bed.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I am desperately trying to update all my stories but... I dunno, something is wrong. I don't have the motivation, and the muse is being even less cooperative than usual, it's all around just too... stressful, I guess but fluff is easy, and I needed to update something, so here's something.

During the early hours of the morning when the sun is barely shining and their bodies lay cooling, Regina wonders aloud, “Are you happy?” She’s wanted to ask for a while now, but was never able to work up the courage to do so.

She can see it from time to time in the way that Emma smiles, oblivious to the world around her because her world is so much smaller than everyone else's and only consists of few.

She can hear it in the laughter Emma shares with their son, and the playful tone of her voice whenever the mood happens to strike.

She can even feel it in the quiet moments like this, the sensation of an intimate kind of peace bearing down on them while they catch their breath.

Her head turns and she can see it now in the faint upturn of lips. It would be ruined by the brow crinkled in confusion, if not for the bright little twinkle in those beautiful green eyes.

“Are you high?” Emma grins then, laughing softly when she frowns.

Emma rolls to her side and kisses the look from her face, missing her mouth completely while somehow managing to cover everywhere else. From head to cheeks, to nose to chin, Regina’s skin tingles with every dusting of lips and the warmth in her chest threatens to consume her whole.

“I am,” Emma admits eventually, breath warm against her lips. “More than I’ve ever been.”

Regina breathes a happy sigh and pushes up, then forward, connecting their lips before she can ask something even more ridiculous. Emma’s happiness is obvious more often than not and the curiosity has never made much sense, but that same part of her that uselessly wonders such things is glad she asked.

As they continue to kiss, Emma presses her down to her back and shifts until she’s lying on top of her. Regina relishes the warmth of her, arms folding around her waist as she begins to stroke her back lovingly. She loathes what Emma thinks of her in moments like this, but she won’t deny loving what it does to Emma too.

Emma is more affectionate than she’d expected and she’s surprised by how much she actually enjoys it, never having been one for the touchy feely aspect of relationships outside of her first with Daniel. They would sometimes kiss for what felt like hours and do little else, and somehow it was always enough.

When Emma does break the kiss, it’s with a lazy, affectionate smile she can’t help but mirror. It’s hard to believe how far they’ve come and she’s still mystified by the ease with which they seamlessly fit together in every way possible.

“You feel good beneath me.” Emma grins slyly, drawing a deep throated laugh that has her biting her lip, eyes darkening in a way that is both familiar and welcome.

Regina smirks, already feeling the heat Emma has become more than capable of conjuring. “I realize I made the distinction rather clear earlier this morning when I suggested we go to bed the second time, but perhaps we should try to get some sleep before we are inevitably roused by your son.”

The body on top of her immediately goes limp as Emma groans into the crook of her shoulder. She laughs again at the reaction and quietly marvels at the fondness she feels considering she didn’t think it were possible it could grow any stronger than it already was.

Her lids flutter closed when Emma nuzzles into her neck and hums, lips molded to her pulse. Regina strokes further down her back, guiding hands to the smooth, firm cheeks of Emma’s backside as a small smile finds her mouth.

“That isn’t at all conducive to either of us getting any sleep,” Emma mumbles against her neck and Regina scoffs.

The husk of her tone says Emma will have no trouble whatsoever in falling asleep like this. “You’re a terrible liar, Swan.”

As a chuckle vibrates against her throat, she lets it wash over her and breathes in before sinking more deeply into her mattress. Not distracted by Emma’s impish face or those delightful lips, the safety and comfort she feels pinned beneath Emma creeps up on her along with the promise of sleep.

She silently hopes for more moments like this, and it’s the last thought she has before the darkness claims her.

 

* * *

 

 

“You look happy.”

Unaware anyone was even approaching her, Emma stares down at her lap in an attempt to gather her thoughts before she glances up. David quickly moves to the side and blocks the sun from shining in her eyes, flashing her his lopsided grin.

She looks back down with a murmured, “Do I?” She is, but given the fact she’s in the midst of being frustrated by paperwork, she wouldn’t have thought happy was the emotion showing on her face.

“Does chimera taste awful?”

The question brings a weary smile to her face and she tries to nod. Instead, she yawns for what must be the hundredth time since she last woke up, and slumps back against the bench. As much as she loves the time they spend together, the lack of sleep when staying with Regina is starting to catch up with her.

She’d hoped being outside might help her wake up but as it’s a fairly warm day, all it’s done is remind her body of how happy it could have been had she not decided to at least _try_ and be the responsible adult everyone expects her to be— including a certain former evil queen who tried to tempt her into changing her mind.

It greatly baffles her how she’d managed to resist that one, but she’d been slightly proud of herself at the time. Stupidly proud, she is now starting to realize. She should have stayed in bed, maybe then she wouldn’t be considering spending a night at the loft.

“Less happy now.” Forgetting he was even there, Emma starts and slaps a hand to her chest. “You alright?”

She makes a sound that is something between a grunt and a groan before sighing. She pushes the papers from her lap and uncrosses her legs, placing her feet back on the ground. “I shouldn’t have bothered coming in today,” she admits. “I’m so fricken exhausted.”

“Maybe you should go home?” She starts to shake her head but stops when he offers, “I can cover for you.”

Looking to him with a frown, she tries to keep the hope out of her voice when she asks, “Really?”

“Of course,” he says, as though her question is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever head.

She snorts humorously, knowing that it probably was. Her parents, overbearing and protective as they sometimes are, would do anything for her after all. She adores them for it as much as it worries her, unused to the sheer intensity of the love they have for her.

Touched as she is though, she does shake her head after considering it. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be fine.” He opens his mouth in what she assumes is protest and she interrupts, “It’s your day off, enjoy it.”

She’d only feel guilty for letting him cover for her anyway. It’s her own fault she’s tired. She can’t even really share the blame with Regina because she was the one not content with a single round. She’d initiated three more before she finally let them go to sleep.

David sighs, pulling her from the memories before she loses herself to them. “Emma…”

Her phones buzzes in her pocket and she holds up a hand, fetching it with the other. Seeing that it’s a text from Regina, she chews on her lower lip, debating whether or not she should open it.

It’s a short debate, as her mind refuses to let her live with her delusional thoughts of things like willpower and restraint.

**I woke from a most interesting dream about you.**

Her eyes widen and she swiftly texts back; **I** **’m WORKING, Regina.**

“What’s wrong?”

Her phone buzzes again before she can answer and draws her gaze back down to the screen. A strangled sound sticks in her throat as she reads the new message.

**Shame. It gave me some wonderful ideas involving chocolate sauce and body parts.**

Another buzz and glimpse at the screen has her shoving the phone back in her pocket.

**Specifically, your body parts.**

“Emma?”

“Just,” she groans her frustration as the images start to bombard her brain. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong, everything is great.”

Catching on faster than she thought he would, David teases, “You’re blushing. Is Regina sending you dirty messages?”

Looking him in the eye, she waits for reality to hit him and when it does, he gasps. “Oh no. Oh god. Don’t answer that!”

“Pretty sure I don’t need to,” she drawls as the horror settles on his face.

Eyes narrowing at her smirk, he declares, “I’m telling your mother.”

“Make sure you’re prepared for talk of babies and marriage before you do,” she says with a snort. If anyone is happier than she is that her and Regina are together, then Snow is definitely it.

She chuckles suddenly. The look he gives her is curious though understandably hesitant, and she grins as she explains, “She’s probably been dying to talk to someone ever since Regina threatened her for hounding me about it.”

Rather than be upset about Regina threatening his wife like she half expects, David smiles warmly. She’s a little confused by it until he says, “I’m glad she’s taking such good care of you.” He side-eyes her before adding, “Apart from the sleep deprivation and mid-afternoon cellular distractions, of course.”

Emma purses her lips, resisting the urge to point out her lack of sleep and said distractions are actually a result of how good Regina is at taking care of her. Were he not sitting there, she’d have gladly indulged Regina’s little game of ‘guess my newest fantasy’. They play it often enough that Regina will know she need only wait before she receives another text from her.

“Emma.” Blinking, she tilts her head in question and David smiles. “Go home. Get some sleep. You can make it up to me the next time I want a day off.”

Torn, she considers protesting again but a shake of his head is all it takes for her to cave. “Fine, but I’m going to Regina’s, not home.”

He stares at her in confusion, then says, “That’s what I meant, Emma.”

“Oh.”

 

* * *

 

Hearing the front door open and shut, Regina swivels on her heel, curious. Walking into the foyer, she pauses at the sight of Emma hopping up and down trying to remove her boots, and grins as she flicks her wrist.

Emma’s head snaps up and a smile spreads across her face, free from the struggle as boots and jacket appear in their usual places when Emma has no need of them. “Honey, I’m home?”

Regina hums in approval, padding closer on bare feet. “Quite a bit earlier than you should be,” she notes and raises a brow. “Couldn’t resist the chocolate sauce, could you?”

It tickled her to send that text, and the best part about it was that she wasn’t even lying. She _did_ in fact dream about covering Emma in chocolate sauce and although she’d had to wake a second time, this time _without_ Emma curled around her, she’s been in a good mood ever since.

“Actually, my dad found out the Mayor was trying to sext me and insisted I come home and do something about it.”

“I highly doubt that,” Regina purrs, though she appreciates the thought as she steps forward, sinking into the strong arms that wrap around her in an instant.

“Well, he _did_ insist, but he suggested it be to sleep.” Emma grins as she teases, “Knowing you were sending dirty messages to me was probably scarring enough.”

Regina frowns, pulling her head back. “You were serious about that?”

“It’s not like I _showed_ them to him, geez.” Emma’s lips brush her forehead, trailing down her cheek to the edge of her mouth. “He guessed,” she murmurs, kissing her softly. “He’s not as slow as you think.”

Regina hums, losing her train of thought a moment as she kisses her back. Emma’s lips are soft, and warm, and so so easy to fall in to. “Face it Emma,” she says, breaking from the kiss and the embrace. She takes her hand and leads her toward the stairs. “He’s not as smart as _he_ thinks he is either.”

“Yeah well,” Emma concedes, “he figured you out pretty quickly.”

_Or not_ , Regina thinks, smirking as she glances over her shoulder. “Really?” She chuckles. “Or is it, as I suspect, that _you_ were unable to resist flushing that lovely shade of red I do so adore, and the harebrained simpleton figured _you_ out.”

Said red flaring bright in her cheeks, Emma mutters, “Is that really important right now?”

“When it comes to discussing which of us is more predictable,” Regina counters, guiding Emma into the bedroom and over to her bed. “And you expecting anyone to believe it’s not you? Absolutely.”

Taking the very clear hint that she is expected to get into the bed, Emma reclaims her hand and begins to shed her clothes. “So all those times you’ve called me an impulsively rash buffoon…”

Regina helps her. “Foreplay, of course,” she says, peeling the shirt from her body. “You get off on me insulting you. It’s odd, I’ll agree, but it’s an oddity I’m willing to suffer for the greater good.”

“Wow,” Emma laughs and shimmies out of too-tight jeans. “Your delusions put mine to shame.”

Pulling back the blankets, Regina gestures for her to get in and waits until Emma is snug beneath them before she rounds the bed. “You like my delusions.”

“I like _you_.”

“I like you too,” she admits, feeling oh so warm from the declaration as she slips off skirt and blouse, and climbs in beside her. “You’re still an impulsively rash buffoon.”

Emma sighs fondly. “Whatever you say, Regina.” She rolls closer and pecks her on the cheek before demanding, “Now turn over and let me spoon you.”

“Yes dear.”


	9. Chapter 9

It's sometime during the evening when she wakes up. Emma stretches and yawns before she realizes the space next to her is empty, and even in her still-sleep hazed mind, she has sense enough to pout about it. If there is one thing she's learned about herself, it's that there is nothing she enjoys more than waking up beside Regina, and it is a thoroughly disappointing experience when she doesn't.

Grumbling to herself, she rolls from the bed with as little grace as possible, uninterested in going back to sleep without that sexy body to wrap herself around. She stumbles over to the chaise lounge where her clothes now lay neatly folded rather than in a pile on the floor where she'd left them. She smiles, knowing Regina must have moved them when she woke, and she pulls them on as quickly as possible before she makes her way downstairs.

The lower part of the house is warmer; it’s something she's noticed more than once during all the time she's spent there. It's less welcoming than Regina's bedroom but the downstairs, especially at night like this when the moon lights up most of the house, always seems to beckon to her. She has the urge to explore, but she knows it'd be pointless.

Anything worth seeing, she's seen before, and she's really only interested in two things in that moment.

Walking into the kitchen, she sniffs the air and smiles as her eyes zero in on the microwave. She crosses the room and opens it, her mouth watering when she sees the plate of food waiting for her.

One down, one to go, she thinks.

It isn't until she has the plate in hand and is trying to remember which drawer Regina keeps the cutlery in that she senses another presence. Before she can turn to discover who she hopes it is, a body molds to her back and she grins, plucking the fork from the hand that appears over her shoulder.

And there is number two, though definitely in the wrong order; Regina has and always will come before food.

"Thank you," she murmurs, lightly shivering as slim fingers brush the hair from her neck and warm, supple lips press against her pulse.

"You're welcome," Regina says, voice throated and warm as she brings both arms up and wraps them around her waist. "I started to wonder if you'd ever wake up," she teases. "I began to fear for your stomach."

Emma's eyes roll fondly. "You're hilarious," she retorts before shoving a forkful of mashed potato and mixed vegetables in to her mouth.

"You're supposed to heat that up first." She shrugs, happier to eat it cold than ruin it in the microwave. Regina sighs, then waves a hand over the plate and Emma moans, delighted as she's hit with a face full of steam carrying the scent of chicken, and the gravy Regina knows she likes to drown it in. "Honestly."

As the chin comes down on her shoulder, she turns her head with a grin and kisses a cheek, not missing the smile that lights up Regina's face. "You're too good to me," she says, returning her attention to her dinner as the arms around her tighten, squeezing gently.

A grunt from behind pulls them from their intimate bubble and they turn in tandem, Regina refusing to let her go. Henry raises his hands upon noticing their stares now on him. "Don't mind me," he mumbles, rounding the counter.

They watch as he flails around in the freezer for a moment before he pulls out a pint of rocky road ice cream, and he flashes them a grin as he grabs a spoon from the drawer. "You can go back to being gross now."

Taking slight offense, Emma smirks and asks, "How are the family jewels, son?" His face pales at the reminder and she laughs as he hurriedly scurries from the kitchen. "Little shit."

"Indeed," Regina husks the agreement into her ear before taking the lobe into her mouth. Emma whimpers, feeling teeth in the next instant. Regina soothes the mild sting with the stroke of her tongue and a firm suck, then releases it as she purrs, "Do try not to threaten our son, dear."

Emma purses her lips. If that was meant to dissuade her, she certainly isn't about to tell Regina she failed while her mind wanders to all the ways she might threaten Henry in future.

All in good fun, of course.

"Emma…" Her name is said in playful warning and she struggles to hide her smile as Regina kisses the underside of her jaw. "Don't think I'm not well aware of what you're thinking," she chides. "I would hate to have to punish you."

Biting her lower lip, Emma counters, "You sure about that?", and shivers again when a chuckle vibrates against her skin.

"Perhaps not," Regina admits, slipping a hand beneath her shirt. Emma squirms as nails rake down her stomach, sending heat to gather between her thighs. Regina murmurs, "Let's let you finish your dinner before we consider taking that conversation any further, hmm?"

A lump gathers in her throat at the thought, robbing her of speech, so she nods quickly.

With another chuckle, Regina releases her and pats her butt affectionately. "Go on, see if you can convince our son to let us watch something that isn't marvel-related for once. I'll bring you something to drink."

Swallowing back the lump as best she can, Emma places her food down on the bench and turns. "One thing," she croaks, then lunges, seizing dark lips in a kiss that has Regina half-laughing, half-moaning into her mouth as their bodies go careening into the counter in the center of the room.

* * *

 

When Emma’s body heaves beneath her, stretching, and she hears the yawn follow shortly after, Regina rises up on her elbows to stare down at her in disbelief. She’d barely slept more than an hour that afternoon whereas Emma had slept for four, and she _still_ feels too wired to sleep while Emma is apparently ready for bed again.

“What?” Emma questions, meeting her stare.

“How are you already tired again?”

“You’re comfy.” Emma grins as one hand strokes her back and the other not-so-subtly palms the cheek of her ass. Were it anyone else, the grin would appear lecherous combined with those actions, but with Emma it remains somehow innocent, even more so when she reasons, “I’m warm, safe, and stupidly comfortable. How could I _not_ want to fall asleep right now?”

Regina shakes her head, charmed but unwilling to let it show. “I’m probably crushing you,” she jokes instead. “The lack of oxygen to your brain is making you delirious.”

“You’re goddamn tiny,” Emma teases, pinching her backside. “You’d need at least ten of you before you even came close to crushing me, woman.”

“Woman?” She repeats, aghast. She growls lowly and says, “I’ll show you tiny, you—”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Emma interrupts before she cracks up laughing. “You’ll show me tiny?” She wiggles her eyebrows and Regina starts when the hand on her ass squeezes firmly. “Promise?”

Heat suffuses her face and she rolls her eyes. “If it wasn’t insulting to our son, sometimes I’d wonder if you were a 14 year old boy with how often your mind wanders off into the gutter.”

Emma wrinkles her nose adorably. “It’s insulting to me regardless,” she says. “Not only am I more imaginative than a 14 year old boy when it comes to the things I can do to that gorgeous body of yours, but there is no way any male, boy or otherwise, has my stamina.”

Regina lowers her head, hiding her face in Emma’s chest as her body shakes with silent laughter. Cockiness has always, _always_ been a good look on Emma and she definitely won’t deny that it _does_ turn her on, but the sheer arrogance of the claim is simply too amusing to resist.

She almost rolls them right off the couch, laughter no longer silent, when Emma says, “You best not be laughing at me, woman.”

Arms around her waist as they both settle on their sides, she grins widely, tugging at her lower lip with teeth while Emma simply stares, one half of her face covered by unruly curls as a small smile pulls at the corner of her mouth.

Emma shifts, bringing their bodies impossibly closer as their heads press together. “I love you.”

“Do you,” Regina murmurs, neither curious nor disbelieving.

She doesn’t need to hear it. She sees it every time Emma smiles at her, hears it in every breathy little sigh, every moan and whimper they share. She feels it all the time in these arms, in the weight that pins her to the bed sometimes when they wake together in the mornings, and in moments like this; quiet for the most part, but loud in the silence between them.

Reaching up, she brushes the hair from Emma’s face and kisses her softly. “I love you,” she says because no matter how hard she tries, she knows she’ll never come close to being able to show it as well as Emma does. “I have for the longest time,” she continues, “even when I thought you nothing more than a giant pain in my ass.”

Unfazed, Emma grins, their noses brushing as she returns the kiss, then hums. “Me too,” she says, “even when I thought you were a prissy, uptight _bitch_.”

Regina breathes out a laugh, rolling them again until she’s back on top and straddling her waist. She bows her head and lowers her voice as she questions, “Oh you thought that did you?”

 “Uh huh.” Emma nods, a hand grabbing her hip. The other slides up over her shoulder and around to her neck, and Regina sighs content into the mouth that seizes her.

 Her lashes flutter with her moan and she closes her eyes, melting as she so often does whenever Emma kisses her. The mere memory of how those lips feel against her is enough to drive her to distraction, but actually feeling them?

 There are no words to describe the sensations that overcome her.

 Love, she decides, is far too tame a name for what she feels for Emma Swan.

 Maybe Tinkerbelle was right; maybe Robin Hood really did lead her to her happiness. Had he not stayed in Camelot, she never would have gotten drunk and slept with Emma all those months ago.

 Emma never would have caught her the night she realized she was falling.

 As she loses herself in Emma, Regina smiles against her mouth.

 Maybe villains do deserve a happy ending after all.

 

**The End...**

**I think.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely confused by this. I didn't intend to end this. I knew it was pointless beyond fluff and I had no idea where I was taking it, but I honestly did not think I'd end it this quickly. Unfortunately, with that ending, I think the muse might be done with it. It feels abrupt to me, so I don't doubt it will to others as well, and for that I apologize.


End file.
